Sometimes They Come Back
by tamaraface
Summary: BrookePeyton future fic, FEMSLASH, sequel to Dreaming. FINISHED!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers: I own nothing you rocognize, please don't sue.

A/N: Okay, for those of you who don't know, and you all should, this is a Brooke/Peyton future fic. That means femslash, people. If you don't like the idea ofc girl-on-girl anything, then you must me kinda slow since i warned you in the summary... But, this is actually a sequel to my fic "Dreaming" although it's not neccasary for you to have read it first, I wish you would though. Sorry if it gets confusing, ask if you have questions, and I'm super sorry if i don't update as regularly as I'd like to, school and whatnot. Now that I've bored you all to tears, "Sometimes They Come Back":

Kessie

I've always wondered about babies. Not the whole part where they come from, I understand that. The mechanics of it isn't difficult to grasp, although when my mother first told me I was sure she heard it half wrong. All the other kids would waste their time looking up the words "penis" and "vagina" in the dictionary when the teacher wasn't looking, and all I could wonder about was _why_ people had babies. To glue a bad marriage together. To carry on the family name. Because they wanted a succesor to mold in their own image. Because the condom broke. And why did people have more than one when others couldn't have any? This doesn't seem fair. Children are conceived every day, maybe every minute for reasons that are less than noble and nobody stops to wonder why? Take me for example. I was an accident. My mom says I'm the greatest thing that ever happened to her, but that doesn't change the fact that she didn't want to have me in the first place. I was a happy accident, but an accident nonetheless.

I was at the kitchen table this morning, poking at what I think is supposed to be eggs, while Mom goes on about something or other over the phone. That's the last time I let her cook while talking to Grampa.

"Hey, let me say hi real quick?" I asked as I pushed away the offending breakfast. "Mom, let me talk to Grampa? Mom!"

"I am on the phone!" she told me, like I can't see her. Whatever, I'll call him later. Mom goes on about work and I climb up the counter and raid the cabinets for pop tarts. There's fruit in those, right?

I can't find my other boot. It's raining and I'm not about to walk to school in soggy sneakers. You show up damp and people will go on and on forever about how you wet your pants or something. Can we say juvenile? I have no patience for stupid people.

I have to yell three times before mom gets her butt moving. I've told her that I'll get detention the next time I'm late for class, but does she move any faster? No. I actually think she takes her time. She can't find he keys or something, which is dumb because they're on the counter where she left them, they're just under some mail. I tell her that I found them, and can we go now?

Driving with my mother is a fate I'd wish on no man. And driving in the rain? Pedestrians and motorists alike beware. I'm gripping the seat with white knuckles when we come to a screeching halt in front of school, and I have exactly six minutes to get to class. I'm halfway out the door when mom realizes that she forgot her wallet and has no money to give me for lunch. I roll my eyes, expecting as much and tell her I packed my own lunch last night.

"Girl after my own heart," mom says. At least it's stopped raining. She kisses me goodbye and I'm thankful she wasn't wearing lipstick yet. Going to class with a bright red lip print on your forehead does not equal cool. Speaking from experience here.

Before entering the classroom I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the tenth circle of hell. I make it into my seat just as the bell rings. Go me. It's lots of pointless information about numbers and books and science and history before I can go to lunch. But who needs to know all that stuff anyway? When are you going to be asked about the symbolic elements of "Lon Po Po"? I don't plan on being an statistician or accountant so beyond addition and subtraction, how much math will I need to know?

Lunch is another ordeal entirely. At least in a classroom, people are assigned to sit with me, no such luck in the cafeteria. You'd think after three years at this school I'd have made one friend, but no. The library seems like my best bet. There's no one in there except the librarian and she's like a million years old and probably can't see me anyway. I stare out the window at everyone else and wish it would start raining again.

When three o'clock rolls around, I'm about ready to jump off the roof. But I mill through the endless mass of screaming students and jump on my mother instead. She asks me how my day was. I thinks it's an unwritten law for parents that they have to ask this every single school day.

"Slow and painful death," I tell her, and she takes my backpack off my hands, I swear the thing weighs more than I do.

"That good, huh?" I groan a response. "Hey, I want you to meet a friend of mine."

"I didn't know you had any friends," I say seriously. My mom scoffs at the same time some woman laughs, pressumably at my mother. I'm about to say something to the woman who has the nerve to laugh at my mother, but Mom interupts me.

"Don't encourage her," she warns the woman. They know each other?

"Sorry, sorry," the woman bends down a little so we're eye-to-eye. "And how are you today?"

I so do not appreciate the depricating tone, I mean I'm not three anymore. "I've been better, lady."

The woman straghtens up and Mom swats the back of my head. That means either shut up, go away, or mind your manners.

"Sorry, it's nice to meet you, a pleasure and all that. Can we go now? I have homework" I say, turning to mom and trying not to roll my eyes.

"Well, my daughter has apparently forgotten her name as well as her manners. She's Kessie. Kessie, this is Brooke."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimers: Not mine except what is...

A/N: I didn't explain before that each chapter will be a different character's perspective.

Peyton

My father has to be the most stubborn man on the planet, no matter how long it's been, no matter how many times I tell him, he refuses to believe that I'm okay. No, Dad, I don't need your money. No, Dad, Kessie isn't too much to handle. No, Dad, I'm not seeing anyone. No, Dad, I'm not lonely. The only question I ever answer yes to is whether or not I can talk right now.

I'm on the phone with him telling him about work, trying to let him know how well things are going while I try to make breakfast. I think I dropped a shell into those eggs...

"I am on the phone!" God, she can see that I'm talking, she talks to her grandfather all the time, she can give me one minute. I go into the living room and I hear her rummaging through the cupboards, one of these days, that kid is going to have a seizure from all that sugar intake.

Where they hell are my car keys? I left them on the counter... Kessie's yelling that she's going to be late again. As if I don't know what time it is. I reach under the couch and feel for my keys. Ew, I really need to vaccuum under here. My fingers close around something that isn't my keys or a giant dust bunny. I pull it out and it's an old photo. Of me, Lucas, and Brooke. No time to get nostalgic right now. I shove the picture back under the sofa, Kessie found my keys.

I hate driving in the rain. I pull into the parking lot and up to the front of the school and Kessie releases the death grip she had on the seat. This is when I remember I forgot my wallet. Again. Which means Kessie has no lunch money and I don't have my license. Again. She made her own lunch? Good kid.

"Girl after my own heart," I say and kiss her goodbye. I hope she's not late again, her teacher's a real bitch.

It's another three hours before I get to work. I hate inventory week. Had I known it would so much work to manage this place, I probably still would've accepted, just would've bitched more. Working at Tric when I was young helped me stay grounded, plus, memories and whatnot. I keep myself busy counting glasses and bottles, trying not to think about what I'm trying not to think about. Doing that is a lot easier when I don't find pictures of her under my furniture. If that picture was taken in high school and I didn't find it until this morning, when was the last time I cleaned under that sofa? I shudder to think.

Brooke has been a sore topic since the unpleasantness that was our "relationship." After we broke up, there was a lot of avoiding and then angsty looks in the hallway, at least until she was able to get convince everyone that we had just been going through a phase. Of course she went back whatever boy toy was waiting and got off scott-free while I was labeled Tree Hill's resident lesbian. That was fun. But I'm over it. That part at least.

Now Brooke, Brooke is another story entirely. I wish I could say that after all these years I've gotten over her, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? It's not like I'm doing it on purpose, I mean if I could stop loving her, I would. But things are rarely that simple. You know what's simple, though? A Gin and Tonic. This is why I like my job. All I have to worry about is mixing drinks and mixing music. The bouncers take care of the drunk guys and the drunk guys take care of the drunk girls. See? Simple. Nothing about my club could possibly confuse me.

"Hey, I'm looking for someone?" I hear from my spot on the floor wher nobody should be able to see me. Either the glasses have started to whine or some chick has been dumb enough to ignore the giant CLOSED sign on the door.

"Come back later, we don't open till 8:00," I say into the inside of the bar. I don't hear footsteps so I assume this woman isn't leaving and I stand up. I have to put the mug away and I hope the girl can take a hint.

"Peyton?" When I turn around, I don't realize I've dropped the mug until it hits the floor and shatters. Damn.

"Brooke," I breathe the word, apparently I've been holding my breath. Her hair is different, longer and wavy. She's all tanned and glowing. She smiles a little and I can see those dimples. She's been smiling a lot, she's going to have laugh lines pretty soon.

"Hey."

"Hi." Que the awkwardness...

"You, um, you dropped something."

"What? Oh! Right, the glass..." I bend down to pick up the shards. When I stand back up, Brooke's produced a broom and dustpan out of nowhere. I take them from her and my fingers brush hers for just a second, I'm not sure, but I think she flinched.

I take care of the mess and Brooke has seated herself at the bar. I have no idea what to say. I've thought about this moment a million times before, what I'd do if I saw her again. I've had entire conversations in my head and now I can't think of a single thing to say. I go back behind the bar and pull out a bottle of Cuervo, I don't think Ican do this sober.

"You want a drink? It's legal and everything now," I say, pulling out two glasses.

"No thanks, I quit drinking." I look up because I know I must've heard wrong. She laughs at my expression. "Don't look so suprised. 276 days sober and counting."

I hand her a bottle of water and hoist myself up on the counter across from her, "Good for you."

"So, this place is all yours now?"

"Yep, Karen moved to New Zealand with Andy a couple years back and left Tric for me."

She nods and I can tell she's trying to come up with a new topic besides the weather.

"So, um--" she starts, but I just cut to the chase and ask her what she wants. It came out a little harsher than I intended it to. This time I see her flinch.

"I was back in town, thought I'd drop by and-- you know what, this was a mistake, I'm just gonna go..." she gets up and starts to leave and I find myself reaching out to stop her. My hand was on her arm and the next thing I know it's snaking around her waist and I'm hugging her. It takes her a moment but she's hugging me back and I hear her say she missed me.

When I let go, it's more than a little awkward. We glance at each other and share an uncomfortable laugh when we start talking at the same time. I let her go first, mostly because I had nothing to say anyway.

"I talked to Lucas and he told me when his mom let you have this place. I've been meaning to come down and see you for a while."

"Why?" And I just can't stop being a bitch. But I think she knows I don't mean it like it sounds.

"I don't like how we left things and I've really wanted to talk you."

"Why now? I mean, it's been like seven or eight years and you've barely said three words to me," I'm not trying to make this difficult, I'm really not.

"I know, but better late than never right? I just--"

"Oh shit, what time is it?" She answers 2:45 when I make a grab for my keys.

"Where are you going?"

"School's almost out," I say and head for the back door. I expect she'll follow me and she does. She asks me what I'm talking about and I tell her I have to pick up Kessie and invite her to tag along. Halfway through the commute Brooke's holding on for dear life and remarks that it's nice to see that somethings haven't changed.

"God, it's the same thing with you and Kessie, I really don't drive that badly. The two of you are such drama queens."

"And what is she like, your sister or?" I cast her an incredulous side-long glance.

"My daughter." She looks at me like I've told her the martians have landed. "You really didn't know?"

"No..." she says quietly with something like dissapointment. I see her glance at my ring finger and try to hold back the smile itching at my lips. "How did you--well, I know _how_, just like when did you..."

I look at her and she looks back down at her hands and mumbles something about how it's none of her business. I assure her that it's ok, that I don't mind talking about it. I make sure to say that and not that I don't mind telling _her._

_"_Not much to tell. I was at school, there was a party, there was a guy. Got drunk, got laid, got pregnant."

"And the father?"

I smile a little, "What father?"

We pull up to the elementary school just as it's letting out, it figures it takes Brooke to get me here on time. Brooke waits by the car as I sweep crowd for the little redhead. See, the thing about my daughter is she's really small for her age, and she get's teased a lot for it, among other things. I can tell she's had a long day when I see her so I give her a big hug and lift her of the ground. I can smell the paint she always manages to get in her hair.

"How was your day, baby?" I ask, taking her backpack. It's freaking heavy. She mutters something dramatic and overstated that basically means bad and follows me to where Brooke is waiting. "That good, huh?"

I tell her I want to introduce her to a friend of mine and she didn't know I had any friends. Brooke laughs at this because she doesn't know my daughter is serious. Kessie gives Brooke an evil look when I tell her not to encourage her.

"Sorry, sorry," Brooke says and bends down a little so they're eye-to-eye, Kessie hates that. "And how are you today?"

"I've been better, lady," Kessie snarks.

Brooke straghtens up and I swat the back of Kessie's head. That means either shut up, go away, or mind your manners.

"Sorry, it's nice to meet you, a pleasure and all that. Can we go now?" she says, turning to me and trying not to roll her eyes.

"Well, my daughter has apparently forgotten her name as well as her manners. She's Kessie. Kessie, this is Brooke." Brooke tries not to look uncomfortable and Kessie tries not to look mad.

"And you're Peyton, great, now that we're all bestest friends can we please leave? I have to pee." She heads for the front seat then makes a beeline for the back when I tell her to. I apologize to Brooke for Kessie's behavior and buckle up for the long ride home.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimers: Not mine, not mine, not mine!

A/N: I just cannot seem to stop writing, lucky for you people because I have two tests next week and don't know when I'll be able to update again. Please, please review. Those of you who are familiar with my work know I'm a feedback whore, and I need some lovin'. Flame it even, just let me know your thoughts. Oh, and by the way the fic is only going to span a coupe days, but in several chapters so bear with me if it seems a little slow.

Brooke

She has a kid, she has a freaking kid? How the hell did that happen! Well, I know how it happened, obviously, but I can't get my head around this. Peyton is a mom. And how is it nobody told me this? I'm gonna kill Lucas the next time I see him, I'm sure everyone knows. I'm supposed to be the first to know everyting, not the last. I'm Brooke Davis for Christ sake! What has happened to the world?

I turn to look at Peyton. God, she's gorgeous. She's not all thin and lanky anymore, she's soft and curvy. Her hair is darker, the exact color of straw. It smells like coconuts and summer. She still does that squinty thing when she drives, and she still drives like a maniac. There are faint lines at the corner of her eyes and mouth, she's getting older but aging beautifully. I can't believe how much I missed her.

That kid keeps kicking the back of my seat. How old is she? She's like three feet tall. I would've thought she was a four year old or something. But she looks just like Peyton, she's like her mini-me. I forgot Peyton used to have red hair. When the kid's not getting feet-happy with my chair, she's reaching between the seats to fiddle with the radio. And Peyton lets her. They have the same weird taste in music it would seem. And by weird I mean bad. Like mother like daughter, right?

This car ride is so incredibly awkward. I have no idea what to say and Peyton has no idea what to say, so the kid just fills the silence. She's going on about some boy named Brett who was calling her names and chasing her at recess. Get over it already, so they call you shorty? Big deal. I've been called a lot worse. She won't stop kicking my seat! She's totally doing it on purpose, she's trying to piss me off and I don't even know her.

"--chinese or pizza maybe, what do you think, Brooke?" _Huh? _I think.

"Huh?" I say.

"For dinner," the kid says. "We're getting take-out and Mom has oh-so-graciously invited you."

"You're the deciding vote, do you want pizza or chinese food? I mean, you know, if you wanna stay for dinner..." Peyton elaborates. Dinner? Sure, because that won't be weird.

"Uh, yeah, I can do that," I say but I'm not sure it's the best idea. I wanted to talk to Peyton, I wanted to work things out with Peyton, I wanted to figure out what the hell is going on with me or if it's just some not-so-temporary insanity that's making me think I love Peyton. But somehow I don't see all of this happening with little Peyton jr. running around. "Pizza's good."

I hear the kid gloat triumphantly behind me. Oh, crap, what was her name? It was like Kelly or Cassie or something. When the car comes to a stop, we're back in front of Tric. I hope Peyton didn't go out of the way to take me back to my car, because I kind of took a cab. I tell her as much and she gives me that look again and says that this is where they live.

They live in the club? No, not in it, over it. Duh. I didn't know there was an apartment over Tric. That must be nice, like a loft. I ask Peyton what happened to her house and she says that they sold it. When Larry remarried, no less. Huh, go Papa Sawyer. We don't even go upstairs, just back to the bar. The kid goes behind the counter and produces a can of grape soda from what I assume must be a shelf or something underneath.

"Damn. Sweetie, did you see where I put the mail? I need to send out the water bill." Peyton asks the kid. It's so weird, hearing pet names coming from Peyton of all people.

"Probably in the office with all the other crap you never sort through," the kid answers, not looking up from the can of soda she can't pry open with her impossibly small fingers. Peyton tells the kid to watch her mouth and reaches over to open the drink at the same time.

"I'll be right back," she says to both of us. She's not leaving me with the kid, is she?

"Don't break anything," she says to the kid. She sticks a purple tongue out at Peyton. Peyton looks at me breifly as she walks by. She turns to say something more and I almost think shes going to talk to me, but no. "Just don't touch anything. That thing you're doing right now, the not moving? That's great."

"Bye Mom," the kid says and watches Peyton dissapear into a back room. As soon as Peyton's gone, the kid hops of the bar stool, no small feat, and vanishes behind the bar. She pulls what looks like an old high chair out from under the counter and drags it towards the fridge.

"Aren't you a little big for a booster seat?" I ask her.

"Aren't you a little big for that t-shirt?" she rotorts. "Stepping stool." She climbs the thing to illustrate her point. I underestimated her. I glance down quickly at the top I'm wearing and there's nothing wrong with it. She opens the freezer and starts rummaging through it just as Peyton returns with a fat envelope.

"Kessie!" And the kid shuts the freezer but stays planted on the high chair, trying to look as innocent as possible. Peyton paces over to her looking all kinds of angry and plucks her off the chair.

"I told you to stay put," Peyton tells her daughter, still holding her in the air.

"I needed ice!" and she struggles until Peyton puts her down.

"You know I don't like you climbing things. You couldn't have waited two seconds for me to come back and get it for you?"

"Obviously not or I wouldn't have been helping myself!" Peyton narrows her eyes and I raise and eyebrow.

"Are you taking a tone with me?" she asks. The kid suddenly finds her shoes very interesting.

"No ma'am," she mutters quietly.

"You know what, go upstairs and do your homework," Peyton commands. The kid doesn't move. "That means now."

Taking her backpack and her soda, the kid stomps noisily down a hall and up the stairs to what I assume is the apartment. Damn, go Peyton. She apologizes for that and says something about the kid never doing what she's supposed to.

"Yeah, she's got quite a mouth on her." And apparently, so do I.

"Ah, did she say something to you?" Peyton asks and wrinkles her nose. It's beyond adorable.

"No, not really. It was nothing. How--how old is she by the way?"

"Almost nine." I do the math real quick. Wow, that would've made Peyton about eighteen or nineteen when she had her, no wonder I didn't hear about it. I think I was in London then.

"Really? She's very... very--"

"Small?"

"Well, I was gonna say articulate, but yeah. That too." I didn't realize until just now how closely we're standing together.

"She was underweight when she was born. She's always been small, she'll probably always be small," Peyton breaks out into this huge grin. "But she is so smart. She's in the GATE thing at school--"

"GATE?"

"Gifted and talented education. She's reading at almost eighth grade level she can do pre-Algebra on her own. She's like a genius." Peyton is absolutely beaming. I've never seen her so proud. When she smiles now, her eyes smile too.

"You really love her, huh?" Peyton's smile drops and so do her eyes.

"My daughter is my world. And this place is my life," she brings her eyes back up to mine. Then she states rather pointedly, "I don't have room for anything else."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.**

**A/N: Wow, bet you never thought you'd be seeing an update here, huh? Me either. I was all prepared to abandon this fic, but nothing inspires like a brand spanking new laptop. So, yeah, updates. I'm gonna try and finish this off as soon as possible before I lose the will to write. Reviews will definitely feed the creative fire. It's un-beta'd so expect some typos. Um, that's about it.**

**Rating: Maybe like R, or hard R. I wouldn't say NC-17 but someone else might. If the idea of two consenting females engaging in a sexual relationship bothers you, then what the hell are you doing reading this fic? If it's illegal where you live, I'd consider moving. But all that be in here. So here's fair warning.**

Peyton

I have no idea how we got here. I mean we were talking a minute ago. About my daughter, no less. How the hell do you go from bragging about your kid to--Oh, my god. She's doing that thing with her knee again. Slow circles between my legs and I'm already wet. How did she get so good at this? There's a press of lips to my throat and I forget how to breathe. Acrylic-nailed fingers tangling in my hair and breathy whispers of "Oh, Peyton..." in my ear. My legs have gotten themselves wrapped around her waist and she's half carrying, half pulling me towards my office and bumping into everything along the way. Office? I think I mumbled something about there being a couch there. Couches are good.

I barely have time to shut the door before she's got me pushed up against it and her lips attached to mine. God, I forgot how good she tastes. I'm back on the couch, Brooke in my lap and frenzied hands moving everywhere trying to remove clothes that have long become unwelcome.There's a tug at the hem of my top and she nearly tears it pulling it over my head. God, I forgot how impatient she is. She stops as soon as the shirts gone and stares. Hard. Well, I know I'm not what I used to be but--

"So beautiful," she breathes. Her lips are back on my throat, a hot tongue tracing invisible patterns as her hands go everywhere. One works dilligently at the clasp of my bra while the other tries to still the hips that can't seem to stop grinding against her thigh. Brooke gets the bra undone and throws it uncerimoniously behind her. I've given up trying to be graceful; grace is impossible when Brooke is all but writhing on top of me trying to take my jeans off and they are just not cooperating. She keeps fumbling with with my belt, her hands moving too quickly too close to my crotch.

I don't know when she found the time to get her clothes off, but she has and she's on top of me, hungry lips attached to my chest and a steady hand making a maddeningly slow trail downward. There's a lick and a curl of fingers and I'm trying so hard not to scream because I'm already coming. As soon as the rest of me remembers how to function, I flip Brooke over, because turnabout is fair play and it's my turn now. I kiss a wet trail down her stomach, headed for places due south and one hand already sliding between those silky smooth legs.

I know what it feels like, of course. I mean, I've been here and done this before. But it's ridiculous how different she feels when there's no alcohol clouding my senses. It's amazing how soft she is, and how easily my fingers slip in, and how loud she's being. Nothing like a cocaphony of moans to boost a girl's ego, so I just go for it. It's not exactly what I remember, but the squirming and breathy half-formed words that are making me wet again definitely make it worthwhile.

I try swirling my tongue and Brooke almost crushes my head with shaking thighs. Note to self: Must do that again. I slide in a second finger to join the first and press up; she jerks when she comes and the heels I didn't know were pushing against my lower back go up and come down so hard I actually think she may have broken something. After a second, her legs fall away and I bring a wet hand up to work the cramp out of my neck. When I look back up, Brooke is still trying to catch her breath, eyes closed, hair delightfully mussed, her body glowing just a little sweat, and she has never looked more beautiful.

If ever there was a doubt about where I should be or what I wanted, it's gone now. Because it's Brooke. And I should've known better because it's always Brooke. I was stupid to ever think otherwise. And as long as we're right here, there's just us and nothing can change it. I crawl back up the couch, which isn't so easy because my arms and legs are still a bit weak, and rest my head inside my crooked elbow. I drag a lazy finger over her face until her eyes open and refocus. Before I can get out those three words that have been waiting on the tip of my tongue for far too long, she gives me one of her little smirks that I've missed way too much and says one word.

Again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.**

**Rating: Back down to like PG-13 for thematic elements and possibly language.**

**A/N: The last chapter was pretty short, and this one isn't much better. I didn't want to make it much longer because I'm wrapping it up and adding anything else just comes off like filler. And I hate filler. The next chapter is gonna be the end, took long enough, huh? Um, again, un-beta'd. Feedback is love.**

Brooke

Wow. No, seriously, wow. Is sex like alcohol? Does it get better with age? Because it had never been that good before. I am completely exhausted. I glance at the clock on Peyton's desk. Two hours? Damn, I'm good! I hear Peyton chuckle and I know she knows what I'm thinking.

"Calm yourself, Casanova."

"You're not complaing, are you?"

"Hell no, I'm not!" she breathes into my hair. I laughs and tighten the arm around her waist. "It has been way too long since I've heard you laugh."

"Ditto." She nestles herself impossibly closer and mumbles something into my neck. I feel her say it more than hear. I turn my head so my lips are right next to her ears and whisper back. "I love you, too."

She pulls back a little so she can look me in the face. Her eyes frantically searching mine, making sure I'm not lying. "Brooke, are we really going to do this all again?"

"Well, I'm kinda thinking we have to, because I'm not planning on leaving this couch anytime soon." But she sits up and gently pushes me away. Ok, not time for joking.

"This isn'y funny, Brooke. This is like the complete opposite of funny."

"I know that."

"Do you? Do you really? Things are different now. I'm different. So are you. We're not the same people we used to be, Brooke. It's all changed." She pushes me off her completely, this time not so gently. She seemed so sure not two seconds ago, but now I can see the walls coming up again. "God, we both know better than this."

"I know we do. Peyton." I grab her knees and turn her around until she's facing me again. "Peyton, I know we do. That's why it's going to be different this time."

"This time?" she whispers, peering up through ridiculously long lashes.

"Yes. Look, Peyton, I meant what I said before. I love you. And I've spent way too long trying to pretend that I don't. That's eight years that we'll never be able to get back and I'm not going to waste anymore time without you."

"But--"

"No. No buts. No what ifs. No what abouts and no maybes, okay?"

"It's not that easy though, Brooke. I have a whole new life now that's seperate from yours. I have a business. And a daughter. She's a big part of this, too."

"Do you love her?" I say, and she scoffs.

"Of course I do."

"Then I'll love her. She's your family and I love you. So she's my family, too." Peyton shakes her head in doubt or disbelief. "Don't make me tell you again, P. Sawyer. I want you, all of you. If Cassie's a part of you--"

"Kessie," she corrects.

"If Kessie's a part of you then she's a part of me. It's as simple as that, okay?" She doesn't answer. "Okay?"

"Okay," she says quietly. And I pretend I can't hear.

"What?"

"Okay," she repeats louder.

"I'm-I'm sorry, what?" I cup an ear with my hand.

"I said, okay!"

"Now say you love me."

"I love you."

"Now say Brooke Davis is the most amazing lover it has ever been my pleasure to pleasure and she--" Peyton covers my mouth with hers, effectively silencing me. It takes a while to get dressed because I can't find my bra or my other shoe. When we're both fully dressed, Peyton laces my fingers with hers and leads me out of the office, smiling all the way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I've run out of ways to say it's not mine.**

**A/N: Last chapter! Whoo, I finished. And it's been a long time coming. Thanks to all those who stuck it out during the ridiculously long hiatus. It's un-beta'd and I didn't proofread so expect some mistakes. Hopefully it won't suck too bad**.

Kessie

I'm working on my English project and eating a slice of of mushroom pepperoni in the DJ booth when Mom and Brooke emerge from the office, took them long enough. They're holding hands and looking at each other all lovey-dovey and I think my mom is actually giggling.

"Mom?" And they jump apart so fast, they knock a chair off the table next to them. Yeah, that's not suspicious. "Can you help me with my poster?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." She walks over with Brooke trailing behind her like they're trying not to touch. "How did you pay for the pizza?"

"Cracked open the register. You should realy get a new one." She glares at me but I tell her that she wasn't around and I couldn't find her purse. She glances at Brooke quickly and doesn't argue because she knows I'm right. She has to go to the storage locker to find me more root beer and Brooke looks like she doesn't want to left alone with me, but she doesn't follow.

"So, you're...eight. How's that working for you?"

"Best year ever."

"Really?"

"No."

Brooke struggles to make conversation until my mom gets back. It's actually pretty amusing. Watching her try and make small talk and not look as uncomfortable as she obviously is. And she knows a lot of funny stories about my mom, more than Grampa. Mom comes back when Brooke is telling me about the time Mom fell off the pyramid at cheerleading practice and brought the whole thing down with her.

"What are you working on, baby?" she says, taking the stool next to me.

"English thing. Can you help me draw a train?"

"What's this for?" she says, grabbing a pencil. Brooke is helping herslf to the pizza.

"I have to draw a scene from this week's chapter of 'The Boxcar Children.' But my train just looks like boxes with wheels. I suck."

"You do not suck," Mom says. She's already got the engine done. She always makes something beautiful out of nothing and she makes it look so easy. "You just need practice."

"And maybe skill or even a little thing called talent." Mom groans. She doesn't like it when I'm self-deprocating, even when it's true. She puts the pencil in my hand and guides it with deliberate strokes, trying to walk me through it. I suck a lot less when she does the drawing for me. "So, can I rent a movie or something if you're going to be busy with Brooke all night?"

She actually gasps and her hand spazzes so hard she makes a dark line across the paper. Oh yeah, not suspicious at all. "What?"

"Well, you guys are gonna be like catching up or whatever, and I'm gonna get bored so can I get a movie?" I try to erase the big black line from Violet's face.

"Oh, yeah. Of course that's what you meant."

"Why, Mom?" I say in my best innocent voice. "What did you think I meant?"

"Uh, nothing. Sure, we can swing by the video store in a bit."

"Okay. Then you and Brooke can get back to whatever you were doing in the office." This time Brooke chokes on her pizza and nearly spits it out. That's real attractive. "Unless of course you were finished."

"What--What..."

"The walls are sound-dampening not sound-proof." She seriously could not be redder. "And you have wild-crazy-sex hair."

"I do not!"

"You're right. It's more like moderately-exciting-sex hair." Mom looks like she can't decide if she's more angry or embarassed and Brooke looks like she's trying not to laugh.

"We were--we were just..."

"Fooling around in your office?" Wow, looks like Mom actually can get redder.

"No! No..."

"Then you _were _having sex?" And now Brooke _is _laughing.

"Brooke?" Mom says.

"Yeah," she manages.

"You wanna give us a minute?"

"Hell no, I wanna watch this."

Mom tries to give me a whole birds and bees speech, or bees and bees, and Brooke tries not to crack up while she's doing it. She sits patiently as my mom stumbles through this incredibly awkward conversation. Hmm, I like Brooke. There are worse people for my mom to be shacking up with. And she has shacked up with worse. Eventually Mom, gets to the part pf the conversation that actually concerns me. She tells me what I already know or have assumed by this point. She and Brooke are in love. They're gonna be together. Do I have a problem with this? Would be alright if Brooke crashed with us for a little while? Would it be alright if she crashed with us a little longer than that? A lot longer? Was I sure I didn't have a problem with this?

Of course I don't have a problem with this. I didn't have a problem when she was with Anna and I pretended I didn't know because she never told me. I didn't have a problem an hour ago when I came down for help with my project and could hear them in the office. No, I just grabbed my record and went to the DJ booth. I've adjusted. And yeah, my mom having sex at all is weird, but like I said, there are worse things. If she's happy, I'm happy. And Brooke is pretty cool. Yeah, I don't have a problem with this.

**A/N: Well, there it is. I'm not entirely happy with it but it's done and I don't think there's much more I can do with it. Now, kindly hit that little button to your bottom left and leave me a review. Please and thank you.**


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